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Man's Bequest: A Poem

Chris has written poetry for 28 years though he focuses on short fiction. But watch out for the occasional twisted nursery rhyme.


If I let myself fall from the pinnacle of the world

Into air so thin it would barely nourish my lungs

And open my arms wide

To soar like an eagle,

Will updrafts carry me above brick and steel,

And harmful gasses to the edge of space

To find God or a god

If more than one exists?

And if not, I’d be that god to rule from on high.

The enemies of this world would fall before me—

Until the ride was over,

And I myself began to fall.

All the cares I’d left behind spun back toward me.

The sea opened to swallow me.

Blue slate became ripples,

And ripples, giant waves.

I flew like a cannonball toward a castle wall

But the bosom of the sea enveloped me

As a mother would a child

And I saw she was dying.

Her children had declared war on the ancient deep,

And I sank into our mother’s depths

Pressure crushed me,

As I dropped into the cold abyss.

The water began to warm above the volcanic floor.

Ancient organisms blossomed, and I knew

That if we destroy our inheritance,

And squander our bequest,

Life will rise again.

The Reality and Beauty of Darwinian Evolution

© 2019 Chris Mills

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